Marv was normally a laid-back guy, but the needling at work had been getting to him. Paul Stone had been placed in charge of the CompuLogic account and his acerbic wit and smart-ass comments began wearing on Marv’s nerves. Seeing Marv had to work closely with Paul added to his angst.
Paul Stone was not an easy man to like. He was despised by the secretaries and for that matter, most of the other female employees. As an unabashed male chauvinist with a rapier quick tongue, he alienated most of the people whom Marv needed as support to complete his job.
It was mid-October with the end of the month deadline looming. Marv was popping antacids and in full damage control mode with the office women, but nothing was working. He decided to talk to Helen, the office manager in hopes she could control her staff.
“I just need you to help me complete the project, Helen—I know Paul’s an ass, but we’ve got a business to run.”
Helen sat back in her chair and eyed him coolly. “If you think for one minute that I or any of the women on staff are going to lift a finger to help that pig, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“But Helen—be reasonable. It’s not just Paul you’ll be hurting—my job’s on the line too.”
“Sorry, Marv—you’re a nice guy, but you should have begged off when Reg paired you with that chauvinist swine.”
Reg was the head of marketing and was as stubborn as Paul was obnoxious—it was a no-win situation either way.
Two weeks passed and the situation got no better, in fact, it got worse. Paul’s patronizing attitude toward the women resulted in Marv being shunned as well—a case of fraternizing with the enemy resulting in collateral damage. Despite Marv’s protests to the contrary and several attempts at outright bribery by providing free coffee and donuts, the support he needed did not materialize and the account was lost.
Reg called him in and dismissed him. The firm could not afford to retain surplus personnel with the loss of a major account—and to add insult to injury, Paul Stone was retained because he had more seniority with the company than Marv.
Sue, Marv’s wife, had enough. She had been enduring Marv’s foul temper for the past several months as well as his working long hours into the night. When she heard he was fired, she left.
Exactly, forty-eight hours after being told the CompuLogic account was lost, Marv’s whole world fell apart. He sat down at the desk in his study and opened the on-line banking. A quick glance told him he wouldn’t be able to make ends meet with the meagre Unemployment benefits and most of that would be clawed back because of the severance check he received from work. As for obtaining another job—it was one month before Christmas—good luck with all that.
The options open to a man in Marv’s position are fairly limited and the male mind is quickly reduced to two primitive responses—fight or flight. In Marv’s circumstances and with his temperament neither seemed appropriate, so Marv opted for the default mode—he hit the bottle.
Now he was faced with two real options he could handle—would it be Smirnov’s Vodka or Gordon’s Gin? Since he had puked for two days the last time he drank gin and seeing as the memory was still fresh in his mind, his universe of possibilities shrank to one—get blind drunk on vodka and orange juice and when that got old switch to Black Russians by adding Tia Maria to the mix. Seemed like a plan.
Marvin Levi, this is your life…
He had been drinking steadily for a month. He knew it was a month because he saw on the calendar today was the company Christmas Party—Friday, December 16—almost one month until Christmas. I wonder what Santa will bring me this year? And then there was New Year’s and next year and all the rest of his miserable life stretching out before him.
He should be thankful—he ought to be thankful, but who did he have to thank for this? He poured another Black Russian and felt himself slipping into that numbed state somewhere in between desolation and oblivion.
Reg Fielding was wearing a Santa hat and feeling very expansive. He had been necking with Helen in the elevator. He looked over the happy chaos of the office with the Christmas paper chains hanging from the ceiling, the tacky artificial tree in the corner and Paul Stone with his arm around Maria, the copy girl.
Things had settled down after Marv left. Maybe it was the realization on the girls’ part that Paul Stone wasn’t going anywhere soon, or the fact that office politics always followed their own dialectic. Maria sure wasn’t shying away from Paul’s advances.
Life was good.
A large explosion deafened everyone. Maria shrieked in terror and Paul fell backwards onto the floor. Reg was disoriented and it took several seconds for things to come back into focus and when they did he saw Marv holding a shotgun below a huge gaping hole in the drop ceiling.
“Are we having any fun?” His eyes were blood-shot and his hair disheveled. He looked like he hadn’t bathed for weeks.
“Sorry I didn’t dress for the occasion, but it was kind of a last minute thing.”
For a moment nobody spoke. All eyes were on the shotgun in Marv’s hands. Reg knew he was expected to speak. Helen’s eyes pleaded with him to say something or do something. He knew in his gut sometimes life demands something of you, whether you can do it or not. He definitely did not feel equal to the task, however.
“What are you doing, Marv?”
It was a ludicrous question. It was perfectly obvious what Marv was doing. He had a shotgun in his hands and he had been drinking. Next?
Marv was philosophical. “Well now, let’s see, Reg—I was home drinking… by myself and then I saw on the calendar that today’s our Christmas party and I got to thinking. They say it’s not good to drink alone, so I figured I’d come on down and share a drink with my old friends—No harm in that, is there?”
“No, none at all, Marv.”
“Well then, pour us all a last drink, Reg—shouldn’t go without a little liquid protection.”
The words were ominous, but Reg chose to ignore the implication and try to minimize the threat.
“Sure, we can all share a drink together, Marv—what’s your pleasure?”
“I like a Black Russian—it kind of suits my mood. I think black would be kind of appropriate—I think we all should have Black Russians, don’t you, Paul?”
Paul Stone blinked when Marv addressed him. “Sure, Marv—whatever you say.”
“Isn’t that funny. You know Paul, I asked you to try to get along with the women and you told me to go to hell—of course, I didn’t have a shotgun in my hand then—but I do now.”
He patted the gun. Maria began whimpering.
“Somebody shut her up. Wait a minute—maybe you should do that Paul—you have a way with the ladies.”
Paul stared helplessly.
“No? Perhaps, I was wrong. Maybe you’re like me—unlucky in love.”
Reg decided he should intervene. “You don’t want to do this, Marv.”
Marv swung the shotgun and caught Reg flat on his jaw. He went down like a sack of potatoes.
“You’re right, Reg—I don’t, but it seems foolish once you begin a gesture not to carry it through.”
“Why don’t you let the rest go, Marv? —It’s me you’re here for.”
Marv’s eyes widened. “That’s very gallant of you, Paul. Frankly, I didn’t think you had it in you. However, that’s not the plan.”
“What is the plan, Marv?”
“The plan is simple. Each of you sing for your supper. If I like your speech, you get to live—if I don’t, you die.”
Maria began whimpering again. “I think I’ll begin with her—she’s annoying, so I’ll get her out of the way first.”
“Please, Marv—for the love of God, don’t do this!”
“Do you have another suggestion, Paul?”
“I’ll do anything you want.”
“Get down on your knees and beg forgiveness of these women.”
He dropped to his knees and began pitifully weeping and begging to be forgiven.
“I’m a changed man,” he implored them, “I’ll never again look down on any woman.”
Marv gave him a pitying glance. “How the mighty are fallen.”
He turned and quietly walked out of the building.
Marv disappeared that night and was never heard of again. Some say he adopted a new identity and moved to Mexico—some say he went to Europe, but it’s all conjecture.
Reg recovered and was proclaimed a hero by the press. As for Paul Stone, he was never the same afterwards. He quit his job and ended up on skid row.
Explosions are very overrated. They’re mostly attention grabbers.
You have this big blast, but everything returns to normal.
That’s why there’s always this debate: Some think the world will end with a bang, others, with a whimper.
Both scenarios are possible, but maybe, just maybe, the end will come like it did for Paul and Marv…
With life decaying to a half-life and then slowly slipping away.
